Choose from the Three
by Ydream08
Summary: *Abandoned*Hermione was set up. Sent back to 1940s, she was unfortunately met with Tom Riddle. Both of them. The future-Voldemort's father didn't get murdered thanks to her. Now, Hermione had a young Dark Lord and perhaps the slightest chance of swaying him from unethical means of world domination. And Riddle Sr. was a man to demand attention. Hers in particular. *HIATUS*
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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 **Choose from the Three**

 _by Ydream08_

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 **Summary:** Time-travelling more than an hour had never crossed Hermione's mind. It was dangerous, more so 'cause the future was bound to be altered. Also, it was illegal. But, being sent back in time by someone else shouldn't get her carted off to Azkaban, should it? That aside, she didn't like the effect of his eyes on her. Riddle Sr. was at best distant to strangers in his house, wasn't he?

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Prologue

"Silence!" Headmaster Dippet's huff was clearly heard by every student.

Without the aid of the Sonorous charm Dippet doubted those insolent children would have given him any mind. They were a bunch of hooligans lacking in respect, obviously many of their parents have failed giving them proper upbringing. _New times, indeed_ , Dippet thought, and for the first time in many years, retirement crossed his mind. He was getting too old for this.

"Yes, finally," Dippet drawled out. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts. I'll remind the first years, as we do every year, that…

"...And there is a new addition to our staff. Our old potions professor, Horace Slughorn, has decided to take a break. Professor Alfred Stern will be filling in for him this year, let's give him a warm welcome. Yes, yes, enough. That's all."

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"That's all! You would have expected more from the introduction of fifth year Defense Against Dark Arts class. Merrythought has lost her game, I'm telling you, Donna. What did you think about Alfy?"

"Professor Stern's class? Not worse than Slughorn's, I guess," the blond Gryffindor said while her spoon stirred the soup.

"Donna, you're always so dramatic," remarked the boy sitting next to Donnatella Abbott. He had just removed his red and gold tie through his head, his raven hair getting even the messier in the process. "The first class, Stern asked us which of the ingredients of the Burn Salve were edible. Goyle thought slug extract would be it, the oaf is in the hospital wing now."

"Charlus, we were there," protested another boy sitting across from Donna. He threw an olive at his friend. "Go tell that story to the Puffs, although I doubt even they will laugh."

"Shut up, Eddie. I was just being kind to Janet. She has missed the first week of school, you know," Charlus Potter shot back at Edward Macmillan before smiling to the girl at his other side. She was a Muggle-born with flaming red hair and brown eyes. Janet Martin.

"Thank you, Charlus. I appreciate it. With OWLs this year, I shouldn't be skipping class at all," Janet Martin said, with a soft smile on her beautiful lips. Charlus Potter had a slight crush on the petite witch ever since their third year. It was fifth year and nothing had happened. Yet.

Janet continued, "Donna, you know how well I take care of myself. I don't even know how I got sick…"

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"Sick? Her?" shrieked the black haired Ravenclaw, her laughter quite the contrast with the chorus' entrancing and soft Christmas song. "You had a doubt? But, if you're really concerned about her health…"

"You made her cry, again, Hornby, huh?" It was a sixth year Ravenclaw boy who had butted in, dismissing Melanthios LeStrange's cackle, and firing his question directly at Olive Hornby.

The brunette in question threw her hair over her shoulder, then shrugged.

"It's not my fault the pathetic Mudblood is sensitive to friendly advice," Hornby explained. "She would have listened to my advice if she had any piece of mind, anyway. Seriously, Rowena Ravenclaw must be ashamed to have poor Myrtle in her House. She refuses to change!"

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"Change is inevitable, Albus. You, as the Transfiguration professor, must know this the best!" exclaimed the Potions Professor Alfred Stern. The ghost of a German accent in his speech was noticed by Albus Dumbledore, but the bespectacled man felt no need to mention it.

"Yes, yes, Alfred, I'm familiar with your concept," Dumbledore explained, but in order to have a Sherbet Lemon, he gave a pause. Dumbledore had offered one to Stern the moment he came into Dumbledore's office, and the contents of the serving bowl had been dwindling ever since. Feeling the sour taste dissolving on his tongue, Dumbledore nodded with delight, now ready to continue, "Yet, I strongly support the idea that the change is actually a repeat of the past, only with a fancier cover if I dare say. It's the same with Transfiguration. You change a rat into a goblet, but it is still a rat. It only looks shinier."

"That is a very narrow definition of change, Albus," Stern objected. "...And the failure of noticing the real change, when it is right in front of our eyes, would be a mistake. You wouldn't be clever, but dead."

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"Dead?" whispered Janet Martin. She had missed dinner, opting to retire early, but in the end she was unable to sleep. Close to midnight she had gone downstairs to the Gryffindor's common room, and found everyone from first to seventh years wide awake. The uneasy atmosphere aside, everyone was whispering one thing or the other. When she joined her friends, Janet's horror upon hearing the news was no surprise to the three Gryffindors. They all felt the same.

"Yes, they say that Hornby found her in the girl's lavatory. Second floor," provided Donna.

"You can't be serious!" Janet whispered. She shook her head in denial, the lone Ravenclaw couldn't have died. Being a Muggle-born herself, Janet had conversed with Myrtle Warren from time to time. She was a quiet and sweet girl, however awkward. _Had been_ , Janet corrected herself.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes. Why had Warren died? She would never hurt even a fly! She and Janet endured similar jabs from purebloods of Hogwarts, mostly Slytherins. On top of that, Warren had Hornby to worry about. She had no friends to help her through those hardships, unlike Janet herself.

Perhaps if Janet had been more approachable, Warren wouldn't have… Oh, God...

"Who did it? How did it happen? Was it… suicide?" Janet asked finally, having composed herself. She would not cry, not here. In the privacy of her room though? She knew herself very well.

"Rumours say it is suicide, but there is no official information. Dippet hasn't made any announcements, not even about her death. Aurors are collecting teachers and students left and right." Charlus joined the conversation now that it was more about the event rather than the involved parties. He would make a good Auror one day, that was what he aimed at.

"You know, Hornby hasn't been around since lunch," Edward Macmillan added. "She wasn't at Ravens' table during dinner either."

"She must be a suspect. And even if what she has done to Warren till now is not anything to go by, she must be held longer as her interrogation is vital in this case. She found the body, you know."

"Charlus, please…" Janet pleaded him to stop, she realized that she didn't want to listen to this talk right now.

"Okay," Charlus hushed, feeling a bit disappointed that he didn't get to share his speculations. It wasn't as though Warren had been a stranger. He had partnered with her last year in potions class for a whole term.

Charlus had always been like this, more analytical and level-headed. He knew how to extract his emotions in such dreadful events. He shared this trait with his mother, Sheena Potter nee Rosier. It had made it easier for her to teach him Occlumency.

"For the time being," Charlus decided to wrap up the conversation. Janet would get what she wanted. Right now, unfortunately, that didn't happen to be what he would have wanted. "They're keeping it a secret."

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Secrets he had many. More than a few of them could get himself killed, yet the new potions professor of Hogwarts couldn't care less. He had struck a deal that could give him an early retirement.

Had it not been for the crumpled letter in his hand, Alfred Stern would never have thought about retiring.

Picking up a rhythm with his fingers on his desk, he skimmed the letter with which he was well acquainted.

 _To Domnall Prince,_

 _Wherever you may be,_

 _I had informed you that since she has manifested her powers, I've been teaching your granddaughter in every field of magic I know. She is more than worthy to be a Prince, regardless of her thinned blood I dare to say. It is with great sadness that I must tell you that she has lost both of her parents during one of the protests here in Greece. Although the Italian invasion of Greece has been deflected, those protests prevent any claim of peace. As such, your granddaughter Eileen's future stands obscure. Last I had heard of her, she had been moved into an orphanage._

 _She needs you, Domnall. She has no one left._

 _Your dear old friend,_

 _Sameer Shafiq_

He shouldn't have had the letter around, his real name signed in it, as it posed a great danger to his mission. However, he had little interest in anything else than reading the letter repeatedly. Nearly three years ago it had came into his possession. It had taken him a year to decide on his course of action.

When his uncle's heir died, his aunts incapable of giving an heir to the House of Prince with all of them bearing new names, it was in Domnall's rights as the heir-in-line to pass the the privilege of House of Prince onto his own child. Robert could have been the Lord Prince, had he not been born a Squib. Anger and disappointment flared in his heart even now when Domnall thought back to the child's eleventh birthday. He had disowned him. Robert had not deserved being a Prince.

On the other hand, Robert's daughter, Eileen…? A magical child born to a Squib and a Muggle? Domnall had been blessed, given a second chance.

The day his uncle died, a year after he received the letter, he decided to claim her. She was the last heir, and if Domnall were to find a pureblood match to her who would accept disrobing of his own name to wear theirs, House of Prince would have a future.

Nobody would know Eileen Prince to be a half-blood.

A sizzle alerted Domnall out of his musings, and he felt the small piece of the mirror heat up against his skin where it rested on his wrist, hidden beneath his watch.

Domnall's magic answered the call and the heat subsided, but it was still there. Only slightly. Once he had retired to his private chambers connected to his office, standing in front of a full-length mirror which was broken at its upper right, the heat vanished.

The surface of the mirror blurred, and when it cleared, a man his own age, with brilliant silvery-blond hair and charismatic smile appeared in it. Domnall would not mistake that smile for something charming, innocent, or loosely benign. The man's air of authority was obvious even though they were not in the same room. Domnall knew him quite well, having served him for thirty years, even before his name became well-known all throughout Europe.

Domnall Prince wished nothing but for Gellert Grindelwald to succeed; although he would be far away from his domain in that case. His Eileen would be in far greater danger in Grindelwald's world.

"Milord," Domnall greeted the Dark Lord Grindelwald. "You've been well, I pray?"

Grindelwald slowly nodded, his smile stuck on his face. "Well. How is your mission coming along? I must say, I'm growing restless."

His last mission… Domnall himself was restless to finish it. At his old age, although sixty felt quite young, he wanted the younger generation to embrace their ideals and himself to only worry about his family. He would take in his Eileen and manage the Prince estates both in England and Germany.

"I've gained his trust, milord," Domnall reported. "It is only a matter of time before I'll capture and bring him to you."

Domnall didn't hear the creak of his office door opening, or the gentle footsteps that proceeded to his chamber.

"I have a few surprises that even Albus Dumbledore can't predict," Domnall continued, but turned around upon hearing a gasp. The first thing he did was to raise his hand over the mirror and end the call. In the meanwhile his left hand grabbed his wand. After a full-body bind, he sifted through the invader's memory to learn how much she had eavesdropped.

The whole conversation. She had heard it all.

The Killing Curse left Domnall's lips as naturally as breathing; he would not endanger his mission by using Memory Charms on her. They were reversible. He had fucked up by not warding his rooms so he would not take a chance again.

The woman fell on the floor with a thud. A few of the herbs in her hand scattered around, her shocked expression frozen on her face as she lied there motionless. Domnall looked over Pomona. The plump woman wore fancier clothes than usual, her makeup carefully applied and curly hair tamed. Domnall tsked; he wouldn't have wished her to perish away like this. She had come to spend the night with him like she did most nights.

Shame, that tonight, she was out of luck.

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Luck, he did not need, but he was cursing he ever had any. Because of the luck in question, Rubeus Hagrid, the half-giant from fourth year, had been following him around lately.

Tom Riddle wondered for the umptheenth time what the young Slytherin's problem was. Being Slytherin's fifth year Prefect, Hagrid might be trying to confide in Tom about his classes. It was no secret Hagrid barely passed his years. Yet, the jittery giant failed to open up. Whenever Tom attentively listened to him, a patient and encouraging smile stuck on his lips, Rubeus Hagrid stammered and flushed. Each time, he scurried away without saying a word.

Tom sometimes questioned the Sorting Hat's choice of putting the half-giant in Slytherin; there could be no worse example to their noble House. Pathetic, truly.

He tried to dismiss those thoughts; the last thing Tom Riddle needed was to have the pest on his trail.

He descended the stairs, his angry stomping helping him put as much distance as possible between him and Albus Dumbledore. Was there anything Tom wished to tell him? Tom wanted to laugh. Of course, the old fool was on him, rightfully so. Tom Riddle wasn't the murderer, no, but his Basilisk had killed the Mudblood. Tom had appreciated his loyal snake's quick thinking, yet upon conversing with Dumbledore, Tom was worried. Not because he had the Transfiguration teacher breathing down his neck, but for the risk that Hogwarts could be closed.

One week had passed and the investigations were not fruitful. Aurors visited school only sporadically, their questionings not giving them any clues. Not that they were disclosing their progress, but Tom Riddle had his ways to be up to date with their investigation. He was even aware that the Herbology professor Pomona Sprout was one of the suspects, having gone on holiday one day after Warren was found dead. _Rubbish_ , Tom Riddle thought. The Aurors could not be further away from the truth.

Also his intel was enough to deduce that coward Dippet would opt to close the school over fighting for it against the Board of Governors.

Tom Riddle hated the Headmaster, not more than Dumbledore as he was easier to manipulate, but he would not apathetically stand by while Dippet let the Governors close down the only home Tom had. He would not return to Wool's Orphanage and wait for the day they too kicked him out. Without his N.E.W.T.s Tom wouldn't be able to build a new life in the magical world, and he doubted any _friends_ would help him.

Tom Riddle was yet to declare his dominance over Hogwarts, more specifically the Slytherins; Abraxas Malfoy's reign preventing him to do so. The sixth year Slytherin's wealth powered over Tom's magical abilities, unfortunately.

Change the dynamics, he would do, but Tom already had so little time to execute his plans. If Hogwarts were to close, he would lose many opportunities even his eternal life could not provide once again.

Seeking ways out of his mind's prison, Tom Riddle started to even consider those impractical solutions he had once discarded. If catching the culprit would aid in Hogwarts' continuity, Tom found that the most probable turn of events.

As his footsteps echoed for his first few steps to his utter disgust, Tom cast silencing charms to not attract any attention. Even though he was a Prefect, wandering around at these hours was still not favourable.

The chill of the dungeons enveloped him and Tom Riddle felt his fire calming down; he liked the dungeons for this reason precisely. Ever since birth, Tom Riddle had been warring against one thing or the other, that fire within eating him alive. He was no innocent either; practicing dark magic was fuel to those scorching desires.

Sighing, Tom realized he has arrived to the hidden doors of the Slytherin dorms. They were twenty steps afar at most when someone materialized out of those doors, unaware of Tom Riddle's presence.

He would recognize that monstrous hair and gigantic height anywhere.

Rubeus Hagrid was sneaking out of the dorms. How he managed to get out unnoticed with that build, Tom Riddle could not fathom. _Useless_ , Tom thought about the rest of the Prefects. _All of them._

How hard could it be to maintain order?

Tom Riddle refrained from an uncouth huff and closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself. Anger didn't suit the most remarkable wizard of Hogwarts.

Tom's urge to call out Hagrid halted the moment he realized that Hagrid was up to something. He checked the corridors before rushing to Salazar knows where, and his head jolted at every sound, from the water running in the pipes to the echo of his own steps.

Following him, Tom felt his anticipation rise. What was the giant up to? Surely… it couldn't be something against the rules… well, truthfully, Hagrid would have been the last person Tom would have expected of sneaking out of the dorms. He was awkward, yes, and incompetent, very much, but he followed rules admirably. Tom Riddle had always thought him to be a good foot soldier, not that he ever made the effort of gaining his loyalty. He needed influential and rich purebloods in his circle, not daft and gullible creatures.

The half-giant stood in front of a heavy, sealed door, and after casting an unlocking spell, he went inside. Riddle waited a few moments, eavesdropping to figure out whether the giant was alone…

"...You look fine….hungry?...here you go, Aragog…"

Tom looked through the crack of the door, and saw Hagrid bent over, gazing inside an iron chest. Tom was unsure what was happening, but he had a hunch that this was the reason Hagrid had been following him around for the past couple of days.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside, wand raised.

"Hagrid?"

Tom Riddle's presence made the giant jump, and his confused mind failed to form a coherent sentence for some time.

"What are you doing, up at this hour?" Riddle continued, "Are you…?"

He peeked inside the chest and saw his way out of this huge mess. There, inside the old rusty chest, sat an Acromantula the size of a Quaffle. It looked murderous enough.

"...pleased that you were able to hide it this long?" Tom Riddle adapted his sentence right away. "This is the end, Hagrid. That family deserve to see the murderer of their daughter punished."

Hagrid stepped up between the chest and Tom.

"Aragog murdered no one!" he protested, yet the guilt plastered all over his face told Tom otherwise. It was odd, knowing that the spider was indeed innocent. Why had Hagrid felt so cornered if that was the case?

"LIAR!" Riddle shouted, his curiosity quieted down by his desperation. Hogwarts would not be closed down. "This is a delicate situation, Hagrid. Step aside and let me handle it."

Just when Tom Riddle was about to knock out the giant, and get his hands on the spider, Hagrid told the most astonishing confession.

"I killed her!" he conceded. "I killed her. That night, I killed Professor Sprout."

It was quite a shock, Tom had to admit. His left hand holding his wand had slacked even.

"Professor Sprout? She is on holi-"

"NO! I did it, kill her, I mean. I buried her by the Weeping Willow. It was an accident, I didn't know what to do. Have been trying to tell you for the past few days…"

Hagrid's head fell down, his eyes locked on his shoes with shame. For a short moment that felt like years to Hagrid, Tom Riddle stayed silent. His calculating mind find the optimum solution when the spider restlessly moved inside the strait chest.

"First make your monster murder Warren, then kill Sprout yourself. Tell me Hagrid, did the Professor witness it? Your monster killing the poor girl?"

After that everything happened in the blink of an eye. Tom Riddle flicked his wand in the acromantula's direction, Hagrid screamed in fright, and to his luck, the creature escaped from Tom Riddle's clutches.

Hagrid took the fall for both deaths and was sentenced to Azkaban. If it were not for Albus Dumbledore, the giant would have spent the rest of his life in that prison.

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"Prison? Well, yeah. There is Azkaban; you'd never want to give there a visit," Ron was saying. "When they find who is behind all those petrifications, he better be tucked away in there."

"It might be too late, he wants blood," Harry countered. Both of the kids were unable to eat much, but the prospect of the culprit getting their deserved punishment had lightened Ronald Weasley at least.

Professor McGonagall had pulled the two of them away, and dragged them to the hospital a week ago. Hermione Granger had been petrified; as her friends, McGonagall had thought that they would want to know.

Harry had cried, unknown to Ron, once the ginger was fast asleep in their dorms.

Ever since Mrs. Norris' petrification many more of the Muggleborns were petrified. Harry had eavesdropped on the night that Colin Creevey was petrified and heard Dumbledore say that there was a cure, but the potion's ingredients were lacking in Hogwarts. The Herbology professor Augusta Longbottom had not planted Mandrakes this season.

Sending the petrified students to St. Mungo's wasn't giving results, though. None of them were returning. They hadn't heard of Hermione ever since.

"Harry, are you sure you are not hearing wrong?" Ron said, sounding concerned. "How come only you can hear this voice, anyway? I mean, I wouldn't be deaf to some murderer craving to kill!"

Harry shrugged, not knowing the answer to that question.

Harry Potter knew so much less, more so back then. How could he know? How could he know that Ginny Weasley would be kidnapped, taken to the Chamber of Secrets?

How could he have known that Voldemort would rise, as Harry Potter lacked the solution to the riddle of these petrifications: A Basilisk travelling in the pipes.

Inside Hermione Granger's petrified fist, that solution had vanished alongside with her.

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"Her success is not yours, Potter. Please try not to take credit from your partner," Snape spitted.

"But, professor-" Harry's protest was utterly ignored when Snape turned away from the bubbling potion which had the accurate density and clarity. He continued on to check other students' potions, but before removing himself from Potter and Abbot's bench, he didn't miss the way Abbot consoled the little fool.

He had his father's incompetence when it came to the art of potion making. Snape didn't want to believe Lily's son could ruin a potion with a single touch, as she had had a knack for excelling at anything that came to her attention, but truth was clear: Harry Potter and Lily's similarities ended at their striking green eyes.

 _Such a shame_ , Snape couldn't help but think as he stirred Neville Longbottom's Shrinking Potion. He marred his brows when smoke came where the stirring rod met the potion. He slowly raised the rod, and saw that the portion of it which had been dipped inside the potion had melted.

"Longbottom," Snape drawled, a dangerous edge to his tone. "Haven't you read the instructions on how much you should put in of salamander's gizzard? Or how to cut it, for that matter?"

"I-I-w-well…" the boy stammered as if that wouldn't grate Snape's nerves further. He could swear that riddance of this boy would do good to this world; sincerely, having Potter alive was comparatively the favourable option.

"I doubt you listened, but I had instructed at the start of the lecture," Snape hissed while dropping one belonging of Longbottom after another into the destructive potion. "That you'd try this potion on your familiar. I said, repeatedly, to not mess this up."

In went Longbottom's quill to dissociate in bubbles and smoke.

"Yes?" Snape pressed on, watching the boy squirm in front of him. The boy flushed and tears trickled down his plump cheeks. However, just when he was about to give some lame excuse to Severus Snape, the door to the potions class opened.

There stood two acquaintances; both dimwitted and useless in Snape's opinion, yet the Dark Lord always insisted on… variety in his ranks. _We need even those outside of my inner circle_ , Voldemort had said to Snape in a private conversation.

Snape left Longbottom to his own devices, noting down his sigh of relief so that Snape would be sure to take that in consideration during the next exam, then he greeted both man.

"Avery, Carrow," Snape nodded. "I'll be thrilled to hear your pathetic excuse to interrupt my class."

Avery smirked, holding out a piece of paper to Snape.

"Boy, show more respect to your elders," Avery called, shouldering Snape while passing him by. Snape narrowed his eyes and watched as Avery scanned the room. Once his cold black eyes stopped at Potter, Avery clicked his tongue. "Oh, here the lad is!"

Snape quickly removed his eyes from a confused and frightful Harry Potter, and skimmed the parchment in his hands.

 _Dumbledore's dead… As the new Headmaster of Hogwarts, the objective of this magical school… Muggle-borns will be expelled, Half-bloods will be selectively chosen for enrollment… new order, new curriculum...The new era will begin with a show that will give example to those who wish to defy this order… Next month… Fountain Courtyard… Harry Potter will be put to an end._

"We'll take the boy, Severus," drawled out the emotionless voice of Amycus Carrow from the doorway.

Snape's eyes shot to Potter's. His emerald eyes- Lily's eyes- pleaded him to do something as Avery acted to reach out for the boy.

" _Severus!" Lily had yelled, those same green eyes, sparkling with unshed tears. "We are friends. I know why you are doing all of this, I'm not sure if I'll ever forgive you, but we are friends."_

" _Lily don't waste your breath for the slimy git," Sirius Black had interfered._

" _Shut it, Black!" Lily had silenced Black and indirectly his whole crew. It was the middle of the Great Hall, at the end of fifth year. "You will always be my dearest friend!" Lily called out to him. Such determination and finality to her voice that Severus was taken aback. Her tears had fallen just then, the last time Lily Evans had cried for Severus Snape, or talked with him for that matter._

"Avada Kedavra."

The curse had left his lips easily. Snape watched as Avery's limp body fell just below Potter's feet, his stretched-out hand brushing the boy's red and gold jumper.

 _His mother's colours_ , Snape thought and their eyes met.

The gratefulness reflected in those shining green eyes behind the round glasses was what Snape had wished to see ever since confiding with Dumbledore about Voldemort's plan regarding the prophecy. He had never got to see his Lily since that day- he had lost her. She had been unaware of the risk he took for her. She had known nothing. She was dead.

She would never forgive him; she would never be grateful for him; she would never look at him with those beautiful green eyes.

She looked at him now, though.

Severus Snape, trapped in his sorrowful memories, finding solace in the eyes of his deceased love's son, lost himself to his overpowering emotions and forgot Carrow standing behind him.

The green light hit him square in the back, and the man fell without much sound.

Carrow captured Harry Potter with little hardship, and soon enough the unconscious boy levitated behind him as they journeyed to the dungeons where Voldemort had ordered Potter to be kept.

"Good riddance," Draco Malfoy declared smugly. "Father had said this would happen. First Mudblood Granger, then half-blood scarhead. Say, Weasley, aren't the blood-traitors next?"

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Next to the courtyard by the Foot Bridge, the the big clock tower hit twelve, scaring the dormant crows and seagulls. Some of their upset cries were swallowed by the thick clouds through which they flew away, however a few crows remained. They circled above the wooden platform built in the middle of the Fountain Courtyard of Hogwarts castle.

Domnall Prince watched the hideous creatures behind a column, its shadow effectively hid him from the prying eyes. He pulled down the hood of his cloak for better measure, but he knew that people would give him little attention.

People had crowded the courtyard, mostly older children from year four and above, but Death Eaters were persistently bringing in the younger ones as well, regardless of their cries or protests. Professors were scattered throughout the crowd, their expressions full of fright and helplessness that were identical to those of a young second year's. How they let this terror reign in their sacred castle, Domnall couldn't fathom. None of them made a sound, let alone a spark from their wands.

They watched, their unchained hands at either of their sides, their wands safely away in their pockets, as Harry Potter was made to kneel on the wooden platform.

The young boy- Domnall knew he was merely thirteen- struggled while two masked Death Eaters held him down. Even from this distance, Domnall could see the trails of dried tears on his thin face. His glasses were crooked, the left side broken. His clothes hung loosely around his lanky frame. His chapped lips seemed to be untouched by water for some time now; in that case _,_ Domnall thought, the boy hardly would have been fed at all.

Domnall skimmed the crowd, then looked back at the boy. He noticed now that unlike his peers, the boy was stripped away from his house colours. He wore dirty black trousers, and a shirt that might have been white some long time ago. He looked as pale as a ghost, his existence worryingly doubtful. Yet, no tie was needed to distinguish the boy as a Gryffindor. He put up a fight, his hard glare never leaving the tall charismatic man who staggered on the platform while giving his speech.

Yes, all the colour Harry Potter needed was the fierce emerald colour of his eyes.

"You're wrong! My mother was more a witch than anyone! Hermione too! You killed both of them! Hermione should have come back from St. Mungo's last year; Dumbledore had said that there had to be a cure to the petrification.

"Your cronies killed her. None of the Muggle-born patients survived from that hospital. You killed her like you did others! She was the smartest and most capable witch I'd ever seen- being Muggle-born doesn't change that!"

Domnall only watched as Lord Voldemort cast a spell that robbed the boy off his breath. He wheezed and thrashed, unable to even claw his throat since the Death Eaters had firmly restrained him.

Lord Voldemort continued to pace the platform, explaining to the spectators- or rather his students, as Lord Voldemort had declared himself the Headmaster after the murder of Albus Dumbledore- that Harry Potter's punishment was a mild one. People with sullied blood, and even poorer manners, would face worse punishments.

Domnall didn't listen to the English Dark Lord further. His gaze drifted to the crows which still circled up in the air.

Domnall Prince had thought that he had severed ties with Dark Lords long ago. The one in Germany, Gellert Grindelwald, had set him free after that one last mission over twenty years ago. He was given the task to kidnap the Transfiguration Professor, Albus Dumbledore, while he was undercover in Hogwarts as the Potions Professor; his colleague. It had been a cowardly tactic. However, Grindelwald hadn't been known to prefer fair confrontations, opting to have Dumbledore kneeling in front of him in chains rather than both of them yielding wands.

Domnall had nearly jeopardized that mission: another professor had walked in during his report to the German Dark Lord before his mission would take action. Getting rid of that Herbology Professor -something Sprout, Domnall couldn't remember her name today- had saved his undercover mission in England. With the mission done, Domnall had separated his path from Grindelwald's shortly before the Dark Lord's fall.

After that, Domnall had fled Germany. Grindelwald was dead, but Domnall Prince needed somewhere else where he could safely raise his granddaughter Eileen. His squib son had done the right thing for once, and given Domnall Prince a magical grandchild.

With a few well kept secrets, Eileen Prince was known to be a pureblood of the noble and ancient house of Prince, and together with her grandfather they lived in England. Domnall had chosen to move there as his uncles already resided in the island-country, also, the most powerful wizard of all times who had defeated Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore, protected the nation and its famous school, Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Domnall had been ignorant to the snake that lived among the British. He had heard whispers, of course. High-standing purebloods spitting their hatred of Muggles had become more open since then, their confidence had been backed up by no other than the Dark Lord Voldemort himself. Nevertheless, Domnall chose to be blissfully ignorant. The wind carried those whispers that called for blood and war, but Domnall Prince had been unwavering regarding his neutral stance. It would stay that way.

He had been wrong. His Eileen had grown up and married that Muggle Snape guy after her graduation.

It had been quite a scandal. His girl was betrothed to the heir to the Nott line, Thoros was his name. She hadn't even called off the contract. She had simply vanished. That night Domnall had last seen her, she had hugged him and said, "I love you regardless."

Domnall played his cards right that time just as his Eileen. He disowned her, and forbid anyone to speak her name; she disappeared with her husband. The Snape name was forgotten during the days that led to the First Wizarding War. Their boy Severus had chosen to side with the Dark Lord, but Domnall's girl had never been targeted. Not until a year ago. They were killed in a raid; Voldemort had specifically asked for their corpses. Domnall had been too naïve to think it would be fine.

Back at the time, as the Prince family was declared to be sympathizer of Lord Voldemort, Domnall had found his _relatively_ neutral stance by presenting himself as a shut-in, senile old man who served the Dark cause by financially aiding them. It worked. Domnall had even gathered favourable nods from the Malfoys, anything to lighten their load was welcomed it seemed.

Domnall had even protected Severus as much as he could. He never claimed him as a Prince even when the English Dark Lord was defeated by infant Potter, no, that would have awakened the old gossips of the boy's Muggle father. But he called in a favour from acquaintances that were in the inner circle of the Dark Lord. Abraxas Malfoy had been even pleasant with further urging his son to be friends with Severus.

However, Domnall Prince's protection ended the moment Severus Snape stood up for the Potter boy.

It happened two weeks prior, or so his owl had informed him as such. Domnall had asked a few people upon his arrival to Hogwarts, but the story changed only little: "Death Eaters attempted to capture Harry Potter in Professor Snape's potions class, he intervened and got himself killed."

That had been the last straw.

A heart wrenching scream startled Domnall, and he refocused to the platform he had been gazing at without attention.

It was colder than Domnall remembered. A cold that sent shivers down your spine, made you regret ever wearing your skin, and it sliced your bones with clattering yet persistent teeth. Not a single warm memory came to the forth of your mind in this kind of cold. This kind of cold was what Dementors brought.

The black cloaked figures roamed above the platform, slowly descending towards Harry Potter, they occupied the exact place where the crows had been, circling their prey.

The crows were gone. Their croaks were replaced with the cackling of the madman.

Domnall hated him, the sight of him, the sound of him. Voldemort had taken too much from him. His grand-daughter and her husband were killed; his grand-grandson was killed. For what? Nothing.

With his past, Domnall could oversee the fate Voldemort had laid out for Harry Potter. The boy was prophesied to be Voldemort's end—Domnall thought that was utter bullshite, yet if that was what Voldemort believed to be true, he could understand why the boy must die. His own kin, on the other hand, had no excuse to give Voldemort a motive.

Another scream of the poor boy resonated in the crowd, and this time, girls and younger students broke down in tears. There were a few that cried out his name too, "Harry!"

Still, no one was helping. Dementors were feeding on the Potter kid, one after another, each came to suck the boy's soul.

Domnall shook his head. Whatever the madman could rationalize for taking the boy's life, it was bloody nonsense.

Domnall Prince did not want any of this. He wanted his grand-grandson alive. He wanted his granddaughter alive.

He wanted a different fate for the Potter boy, he had not deserved this.

Prince took a last look at the boy and apologized under his breath. The boy would be killed today. However, yesterday he had been alive, and yesterday was in Domnall Prince's hands to save.

Among the many artifacts passed down from generation to generation in the ancient House of Prince, was a time-turner. There were many related books that could help as well and Domnall Prince needed every piece of information possible if he wanted to better the future.

He would not be content with another world similar and scarcely fortunate.

* * *

 **Hi there!**

 **So here is _another_ new story... This will be a long WIP, with an unknown end and no definite end date. I want to remind you that I will be writing only during summers, and since I won't regularly update this, I have to say this will take long. But still, please give it a chance. I'll do my best to make it worth your time!**

 **I'm sending big thanks and hugs to my beta, _Irish Thorn_. This chapter would be VERY different if it were not for her, not in a good way. Thank you so much again :D**

 **I hope you've liked it! Let me know what you think ;)**

 **~Ydream08**


	2. Newspaper

**Choose from the Three**

 _by Ydream08_

* * *

Chapter 1: Newspaper

"I kissed—"

Hermione Granger shifted towards the loud voice, and shot a Stupefy without missing a heartbeat.

"—HER!" the voice shrieked. Hermione saw her spell bounce off a transparent silvery shield, and once the shield dissolved, she looked into the emerald eyes of her best friend. "Hermione, it's me!"

"Harry?" Hermione lowered her wand. Putting it back to her sleeve, she sighed. Pushing away her curly hair from her face, she shook her head. "Godric, you gave me a scare!"

"Sorry?" Harry quipped, but he didn't look so apologetic after all. "It was a hard day at work, I suppose."

Hermione shed off her blazer and hung it. "You'd have no idea," she said while crossing to the kitchen. She had just arrived home. "Want some tea?"

Just when she put water to the stove, she heard Harry follow her to the kitchen. Turning around, she faced her dear old friend.

Harry had changed after the war. He had grown taller, still not tall enough to match Ronald, but it was enough to remind Hermione that she was on the shorter side. With his growing height, Harry had gained weight as well. Quitting his job as an Auror hadn't helped either. Gone were his abs, famous Harry Potter now sported a slight belly that was the laughter material of his oldest friends. Especially Ron. Compared to the Keeper of Chudley Cannons, the Defense Against Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts had lost his touch.

Losing Ginny hadn't done any good to him. First his job, then his health…

"I kissed her, Hermione," Harry said with a goofy smile on his face. His smile wavered though, as if he wasn't sure he had the right to smile.

Hermione observed her best friend's rosy cheeks and flushed neck. His raven hair was a mess, worse than usual, and his button up shirt was missing a few buttons. He had had a good snog, it seemed. But it looked like he had rushed straight to Hermione's apartment.

"You didn't leave her and come here, did you?" Hermione thought all of a sudden. Harry could be daft sometimes, and he did the most ridiculous things in those moments. "Wait, who is she?"

"Of course I didn't! I—I—" Harry stopped and swallowed, then continued. "It was a goodnight kiss. I kissed her on her doorstep, then came here."

"Yes, sure," Hermione said with narrowed eyes. It was April, school wasn't yet over. A missing DADA professor would be a big deal, unless they hadn't left the school grounds…

"Don't tell me it's the charms professor…" Hermione started to say but Harry intervened.

"Is it okay?" he whispered. Harry raised his eyes from where they were stuck on the floor. His eyes glistened but his hard stare was indication that Hermione shouldn't be handling this situation lightly. The kettle blew, and its persistent voice that indicated the water was ready grated on Hermione's nerves.

She turned around, taking the water from the stove, prepared the teas as a heavy silence reigned the small kitchen.

"It's only been a few years," Harry added after Hermione passed him a mug.

"It's been seven years," Hermione corrected him. It's been seven years since they had lost Ginny Weasley.

"Not enough," Harry protested with a pained voice. "I should have looked harder for her. There must have been leads that we'd missed, or clues—"

"Stop," Hermione chided. "You're doing this because it is the first time you've been romantically involved with someone else after her. Daphne Greengrass deserves better."

Harry looked as if about to protest, so Hermione continued on. "We both know that you've done everything you could have done for her. You've searched for her for five years, Harry- five years! She had to be declared dead. Nevertheless, the Weasleys are ever the most grateful."

Hermione waited for Harry to take in every word she said. When he nodded and sighed, she led them to the living room.

Getting seated, Hermione asked Harry about work -and how he sneaked out of Hogwarts to find her- and she talked about her own for some time. It was the usual. Struggling for House Elf rights against bigoted, unpleasant wizards who held the Wizengamot seats was always a pain in the arse. At least young heirs to some seats like Harry, Hannah Abbot, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were helpful. Even with their aid, Hermione mostly overworked, staying late and bringing work to home. She and Ron had had numerous arguments regarding that when they used to date. It wasn't like their relationship had been roses and butterflies if it weren't for her work, Ron had once given quits to the Wizarding world, for Godric's sake!

One and a half years after the war, she and Ronald had decided to end things.

Truth be told, one of the many reasons for their break-up had also been their distant attitude.

It all started when Ginny disappeared.

* * *

 **~2000**

Sometimes Ginny Weasley questioned her prioritizing. Her decision to accompany Harry to this Godric-forgotten place was outright daft. She had to wake up early in the morning so she should have been opting to do exactly that, not go treasure-hunting with Harry.

Yes, unlike at the moment, most of the times she was sensible; even more so than her brothers.

Bill's obsession over puzzles had led him to be a curse-breaker, a risk-taking one at that. So as the eldest, he roved the boat of 'insanity' for the Weasley children. Charlie had followed him with blind eyes. Who in his right mind would dedicate his life to fire-breathing monstrous dragons anyway? Percy hadn't been left out from that boat either, albeit his way of showing that he was lacking more than a few brains cells had been strictly hidden in the borders of legislation and rules. Fred and George had been a whole different story. Although Ginny's heart squeezed at the thought of Fred -she indeed missed him terribly- Ginny knew that even only a year after his death, George was promoting wickedness through their joke shop for Fred's expense too. Lastly there was Ronald.

Good old Ronald.

Ginny wondered as of right now, why she hadn't taken him as an example. He had quit Auror training after a drunken night in which a new girlfriend of his had told him he had an extraordinary voice. How that obviously flirtatious compliment had gone to his brain as a decent idea, Ginny did not know. Being aware of the Galleon equivalent of his newly sold single, Ron had in fact proven Ginny to be the idiot.

She shouldn't have mocked him that much.

Oh, and here she was! She had followed a might-be-lover into Auror training, both of them full-fledged Aurors at the moment. Harry and she were on and off as a couple though. Some days he escaped from her as if she were the plague, and some days it was vice versa. Ginny could see their break-up on the horizon if she was to be truthful, but deep down she didn't want to depart from her childhood crush. She had given her first kiss to another guy just to make Harry jealous even!

What a boyfriend Harry Potter was, unaware that his girlfriend would be dropping out of being an Auror and had try-outs for Holyhead Harpies first thing in the morning!

Ginny huffed and kicked a rock out of the way. She had thought that Harry had other plans for tonight when he had asked that they go out. Last thing that came to Ginny's mind for going out had been Auror business. She was thinking more in the lines of a surprise fancy dinner.

Here they were!

The Ministry had been sorting out its new properties which were claimed from the convicted Death Eaters. The Gaunt's Cottage was next and the higher up Aurors were busy chasing the escapades of the Battle; they were more useful for that job rather than cleaning up an empty house.

As a result, scanning the cottage fell on Harry and Ginny's shoulders. Apparently, rookie Aurors, whomever they may be including the famous saviour of Wizarding Britain, Harry Potter, were given the lowly errands.

"Auror Bardsley says a few weeks more and I could join with their chase of the remaining Death Eaters," Harry muttered as he Diffindo'd another ivy that had gotten tangled around his feet. "He says these are only formalities."

"Sure," Ginny drawled out, not caring an inch. She was apparently the fill-in for Harry's sick partner, so why would she humour him? This was the first time in weeks that they were alone and this was what Ginny got. Of course both of them needed time to cope with the after-effects of the war, its second Anniversary had been only two weeks prior, but Ginny had noticed earlier that she sought physical comfort while Harry did not. She couldn't even get a hug from the guy!

Sighing, Ginny joined Harry who was now making sure that the yard held no distasteful surprises.

"There is nothing much around the yard," Harry noted. Ginny was eyeing the place as well, her eyes not registering anything threatening. The cottage, or rather the rundown shack was hidden well inside the woods. As a result, whatever Harry called a yard was actually a part of the woods, easily hiding sinister objects unknown to both Harry and Ginny.

"I'm going in the cottage," Harry declared. Ginny absentmindedly nodded her approval while she cast a few charms around the yard just to be sure.

She checked whether any creature -human being or not- was hiding somewhere they had failed to see, all Auror protocol; another charm checked any recent magical activity just as it scaled the Dark magic remnants. Nothing popped out from her scanning spells, so Ginny shrugged and decided to follow Harry into the cottage. There could be something worthwhile in there.

Ginny almost prayed to find something there. If she was not going to have that fancy dinner, at least she could use some action.

Changing her steps toward the cottage, Ginny was confused to see Harry standing a good five meters away from its entrance. He looked around with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Harry?" Ginny asked, what the heck was he doing there? Standing like a damn tree? "Weren't you going inside? Or were you waiting for me?"

Harry turned to Ginny as she picked up a faster pace to reach him; his flushed neck was an indication that Ginny's latter assumption was not true. Sure, Harry Potter was not a smooth talker, frequently flushing at anything close to flirtatious, but it had been months since Ginny made him flush. This time it was probably out of embarrassment, not because of heated attraction.

Speaking of heated attraction… The yard was obviously unkempt, but Ginny always had had a guilty fantasy of an out-door-

"I… I don't know. I just keep walking to the door, but I can never reach it," Harry interrupted Ginny's wild imagination. She cleared her throat and put her hair at the back of her right ear just for her shaking hands to be occupied.

"Yeah, really?" Ginny asked automatically without Harry's words registering. Then she popped out of her daze, "Woah, wait! You can't reach it? Umm… well, ahem. Are you sure? Maybe you could try again?"

"I'm not lying, Gin! It's just- I already tried a few times, walking to the door, I mean. But whenever I look around, I'm still here. Not moving an inch. I can't move further."

It was Ginny's turn to be confused, having finally given her full attention to the problem at hand. She had just stopped next to Harry, trying to discern what he was getting at. She looked at the door of the cottage, easily distinguishing the dead snake nailed to the wood.

She grimaced but shrugged. Harry was probably trying to prank her, but she hadn't grown up in the Burrow without learning her way around. She'd not fall for such an easy game.

Ginny raised her wand, then casted the same spells she did in the yard to be certain that there was nothing dangerous. Better be cautious, than sorry, was the Aurors' policy.

A few quick wand flicks later, she was surging forward, unaware that she had passed a boundary which was drawn by two pillars, the emerald eyes of the snake heads carved on their top flashing precariously with old magic.

Ginevra Weasley hadn't seen either of them, not the flash of light and not even the pillars.

She stopped at the doorstep of the ancient Gaunt's Cottage, brilliant accomplishment to _walk to a door_.

Ginny turned around, ready to inform Harry that she wasn't falling for his foolish antics, but she stopped in her tracks.

Upon facing the yard, Ginny's eyes found empty space where Harry should have been.

"Harry?" Ginny called. Rushing to where he'd stood, repeating his name with growing alarm. "Come out, Harry! You know I'll come and get you otherwise!"

Ginny casted the spell which revealed human presence again but nothing showed where the yard meet the woods, where Harry Potter stood a moment ago.

* * *

Likewise, Harry had watched helplessly as Ginny walked up to the cottage. One moment she was there, and the next she was gone. Just like that, Ginny Weasley had turned into thin air, not leaving a single clue as to where she had vanished.

* * *

After the loss of Fred, Ron no longer had it in him to continue as he used to during the war. Hermione had talked with him one night about it. Ron Weasley had fought that war for his family, and in the end he had failed to protect all of them.

They had lost Fred, and seeing his mother, Molly, crumble down had taken its toll on Ronald.

He had taken the Auror training as a quick escape, but had severely struggled to complete it. His and Hermione's fights had increased during those hardships. Their newly-budding relationship wasn't strong enough to endure those coups.

They would have reunited during when Ron quit his singing career at its peak, opting to give a shot at the tryouts for Chudley Cannons, but any chance they might have had was crushed with the news of Ginny's disappearance.

Hermione was not the woman to be a pillar to Ronald Weasley while he coped with yet another loss. Not as his lover.

So, here she was, nine years after Ginny's disappearance, unquestionably single. She hadn't been alone in her single status, as Harry had been persistent to not dishonour Ginny's memory, yet he had long moved on.

Only tonight, he had been courageous enough to take that final step: He had accepted someone new into his heart.

"She's beautiful, you know," Hermione whispered, her palms pleasantly warm where they covered her mug of tea.

It was already past twelve; Harry really should be going.

"Isn't she?" Harry whispered back, obviously not minding the time. He sighed, and Hermione could swear it was because he wasn't spending these hours with a blonde Slytherin. "I can't help but feel...guilty, you know."

"I know." Hermione put her mug away, and hugged him. Resting her head on his back, she noticed that Harry hadn't moved where he was leaning towards the coffee table, elbows on his knees. He gently put one of his hand on hers, rubbing it with his thumb absentmindedly.

They stayed like that for a long while, listening to each others' breathings. It was comfortingly similar to when the two of them were alone on the run to hunt Horcruxes. They still had one another's back.

They were inseparable.

Exhaling loudly, Hermione decided it was time she shipped Harry off to Hogwarts. He shouldn't be needing a damn letter each time he returned back to the old castle.

"C'mon, up you go. Your princess shouldn't see a monster first thing in the morning instead of her prince charming," Hermione mocked Harry as she urged him to stand up. It was really getting late, and as selfish as it may sound, she had work early in the morning too. She didn't want bags under her eyes just in case one Draco Malfoy would visit the Ministry for one business or another. Their truce from last year was edging at turning into something brand new, and Hermione wouldn't have Harry endanger it.

Also, not giving any excuse for the blond Malfoy to jab at her appearance was a boost to her confidence. Having that pretty mouth of his slightly ajar at the sight of her sexy work attire was getting quite addictive, if Hermione had to be honest.

"Ha-ha, 'Mione. It is hilarious that you're kicking me out," Harry countered, pulling Hermione's mind off of their childhood nemesis. How times had changed!

Shoving him toward the fireplace, Hermione laughed him off. "Come with your engagement announcement next time. I won't have you set your foot in my apartment if you come crying that she's slipped away from your fingers."

Harry grunted, and retaliated with messing with her hair. Damn him!

"At least I'd have someone to cry over, Ms. Granger. Your pretty know-it-all attitude is an adequate male-repellent."

Hermione huffed and playfully smacked his head. "I don't have the tragic flaw of the Chosen One ego, Mr. Potter."

"That," Harry said with a wide grin. "Is not exactly a come-back, is it?"

"Fine, you win. Now go; I have work in the morning."

Harry took a handful of floo-powder. Rolling his eyes at her, he said under his breath, "Like I don't either."

Hermione chose to ignore that while giggling. She really had missed him.

"Good night, Harry," Hermione called. Harry smiled and bid her goodnight before vanishing in the green flames of the fireplace.

Sending her friend off, Hermione got up to tidy up the place. The mugs went inside the dishwasher; her books scattered around went to their respective places with a flick of her wand; and her blazer followed Hermione to her room where she'd hang it in its rightful place.

Finally entering her room, first thing Hermione did was to shed off her Royal Blue pencil skirt. However hot it made her feel, after a certain hour, being unable to cross her legs annoyed her to no end.

Clad in her button-up shirt, Hermione brushed her teeth in the attached bathroom and cleaned the remains of her make-up. She got rid of her remaining garments and showered. The hot water eased the stress of the day, and a welcoming sleepiness pulled down her eyelids. Yawning, Hermione braided her hair and changed into her usual sleepwear, shorts and a camisole.

Just as she was about to crawl into bed, Hermione noticed a newspaper lying on top of the blankets. _Odd_. She didn't remember leaving the Prophet in her room.

Picking it up, Hermione skimmed the titles, but none of the news seemed familiar.

" **Defense request by French delegates was denied!"**

" **Adamaris Prewett nee Rosier claims the Prewett's Wizengamot seat!"**

" **Hogwarts is shocked by two murders! R.H. arrested!"**

Hermione's brows furrowed even further when she arrived at the last headline. What the hell was this? Murders?

And, what Prewett were they talking about? Molly had been the last to the name, there no longer was anyone who bore it.

Hermione's eyes quickly searched for the date of the newspaper. It didn't look particularly old. It's paper wasn't yellowish to start with. The only indication that it was read was its crumpled state.

"A-hah!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes finally finding the date. 2nd of January, Friday, 1942.

This confused Hermione even more. An outdated newspaper, in her bedroom, on top of her bed. Why? And how?

Hermione had already collected her wand from the leather wand holder at her right forearm. The familiar wood giving the security her wards lacked at the moment.

Hermione cast spells to detect any breaches in her wards, but there were none. No traces of unknown magic in any of her rooms, her bedroom foremost. She cast more spells, anything that came to her mind actually, to find any oddity. Concluding there was nothing out of ordinary, Hermione switched to strengthening her wards. Just in case.

Putting the newspaper aside, Hermione pulled the blankets on herself finally and closed her eyes. _I can look into this better in the morning_ , she thought as she fell asleep to dreams of a certain pair of silver eyes.


	3. Fuck Magic

**Warning: Adult readers only please! There will be mentions of sexual themes.**

* * *

 **Choose from the Three**

 _by Ydream08_

* * *

Chapter 2: Fuck Magic

"Rowle! You're late again!" Harry yelled over the furiously pouring fountain in the middle of the yard. He corrected his glasses as he eyed the blond boy scampering away with a half-closed trunk.

The second year was a late-sleeper and too disorganized for Harry's like. He, himself, had been no better as a kid, but being Tore Rowle's DADA professor the past two years had made Harry quite irritated with both traits.

When the kid tripped over a stone, he miraculously righted himself in no time thanks to his great agility, but his trunk was not as lucky. The contents of the trunk were thrown all over the place. Green jumpers and black robes scattered around, Quidditch gear dropped in the fountain and the half-shrunk broom rolled over to Harry's shoes.

"Salazar!" Harry heard the boy gasp, and released a sigh. It wouldn't kill him to help.

With a swish of his wand, clothes were packed away -all of them dry- and the broom shrunk to its intended size before finding its place inside of the trunk. Another flick later, the trunk was locked and a Weight-lightening charm was cast.

Tore Rowle pushed his long hair from his eyes before narrowing those eyes at Harry.

"You can't take off more points, Professor, the year is over," Rowle informed, a slight unsteadiness in his voice.

Harry shook his head. It was hard to convince Slytherin kids that he meant well. Especially to those whom Harry took points from regularly. If it were not for punctuality, the kids were prone to start up fights or break the rules of the school. _Second to Gryffindors_ , Harry mused.

Luckily, as a second year, Tore Rowle was only ever in trouble with the former.

"You'll come back next year, right?" Harry teased. He really liked being a Hogwarts professor. He wondered now and again why he hadn't chanced being a Prefect back in his own school years. Surely, it would have been more satisfying to take points from Malfoy.

"No points taken for being late," Harry declared to the young boy. "You just looked like you could use some help."

Seeing that the boy was about to protest, Harry stole the first word. "I can help you floo-call your father, Thor, to come pick you up. Because, as it seems, you will miss the train."

One more reason to specifically attend this young Slytherin: Harry was friends with his father. Harry had met anew with the man after his parole, and had quickly warmed up to his senior Slytherin alumni.

 _Nothing in the lines of favoritism, of course,_ Harry justified himself in his mind. He just offered tea and biscuits to Tore whenever they were both free. Harry had picked up this habit from Headmistress McGonagall, something that made the older witch tear up whenever she interrupted one of Harry's tea times.

Yet, no amount of tea could reverse the boy's annoyance each time Harry took off points from his house for being late.

Tore Rowle cracked up a smile. "I'll pass. Better rush for the train, my friends are waiting for me."

Harry bid the boy farewell. He would find Tore up in his office, reacquainting himself with Harry's biscuit store anyway, if he were to miss the train.

Watching Tore leave, Harry loitered around half an hour more. His eyes were anxious to catch sight of his girlfriend, his excited mind already finding various amorous ways to greet her. However, she was nowhere to be seen.

Crossing the yard and making his way to the Charms classroom, Harry wondered at every step what was taking Daphne so long. She was a meticulous witch; surely she must have been done packing hours earlier.

They had promised to meet by that fountain and spend their day in Hogsmeade before returning home.

Knocking on the door of her private quarters, Harry grimaced at the clattering noise of obvious clumsiness that came after his arrival. What was his witch upto?

Harry watched in amusement as the door slightly budged, but didn't open. _One of her many trunks in the way_ , Harry supposed. It was no secret that Daphne Greengrass had an immense wardrobe from which she wore anew each day. Throughout the whole year, without a single day of exception, Harry had accidentally eavesdropped on young Slytherins enviously gossiping about Daphne's choice of clothing.

The whole school talked about the charms professor's fashion sense, mind you.

The door swung open just then and there stood the beautiful bird in question.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, her light blue eyes sparkling at the sight of him. Before Harry could greet her back, Daphne aggressively pulled his dark blue tie so that she could smack her lips on his. When she had gotten a hold of the fabric, Harry had no idea.

Getting acquainted with her soft lips was interrupted, however, when Daphne stumbled over yet another trunk and got the both of them tumbling to the ground.

Harry grabbed onto her waist firmly and instinctively switched their places, cushioning her fall.

"Umph!" Harry felt the air leave his lungs and his head pounded because of the collision. Though, the persistent ache was forgotten when Daphne wiggled where she lay on top of him. Harry blinked several times, and realizing that his glasses were askew, he righted them just in time to see Daphne flip her blond hair.

"My hero," she purred into his ear.

Harry became hyper aware of Daphne's long slender legs straddling him when Daphne did not only make him twitch at the sound of her seductive voice, but rolled her hips where it was so damn close to his crotch.

Harry grabbed her outer thighs, his nails digging into soft flesh, so that he could somewhat immobilize her. She wore one of those robes with its skirt short in the front, but long in the back. Godric!

"The other day Tory got sacked for using illegal charms, Extension charm was one of them, albeit the mildest," Daphne explained as she played with the buttons of his plaid shirt. "Aurors thought it to be smart to search for her immediate family. Now I get to return home with six trunks because of her."

Oh, so she was angry! Harry felt relieved that his bird had been angry over something so trivial- no, solvable. Never tell Daphne Greengrass the word 'trivial', Harry learned that lesson the hard way.

"Why not shrink your clothes, love?" Harry said, one of his hands caressing her thigh to calm her down.

"I've already done that," Daphne gritted out, and the spark in her eyes made it clear she was not enjoying mulling over this subject. "I spent all of my morning fitting my clothes in these stupid trunks, and when I was done, I had six of them. Six! And my house elf can't come for an hour, at least, to get my trunks- she has been visiting her relatives."

Harry smiled at her scowling face. She was so pretty even when angry. Her eyebrows like the violin arch, however furrowed, and lips like a rosebud! Her heart shaped face didn't blush when angry, though. The only time she blushed-

Harry grabbed her hips and harshly positioned her above the tent in his pants. Upon her gasp, a soft tint of pink spread over her moon face.

It had taken one and a half months to figure out this trick. Not only was she sensitive, Daphne liked it when Harry was rough and demanding in bed.

It was something Harry was learning gradually. He had never been rough or demanding, not in anything in his life.

Pushing his hips so that the bulge on his trousers hit her hot center, Harry edged Daphne on. "So? Love, I don't follow _why_ you made me wait downstairs."

"Because that little bitch-" -Harry knew it was Astoria she was talking about- "-gets in trouble and I have to pay the price! Just like the Draco incident. The bint was going to make me marry Flint, so that the marriage contract with the Malfoys would fall on her. I hated Flint! He was a nightmare- she knew it but she arranged a nuptial."

Harry knew this story. It was pure luck that Lucius Malfoy had died in Azkaban, making Draco the Lord Malfoy thus giving him the power to annul the marriage contract which indirectly finished the ongoing dispute between the Greengrass sisters.

Daphne had taken this job after that incident, wanting to get as far away from her family as possible.

Harry would have responded to Daphne someway if she hadn't crushed her lips onto his. Daphne indeed liked Harry's dominance in most of their intimacies, but angry sex meant that Daphne herself would use force, bruise and bite.

Harry adored her spark.

Opening his mouth upon Daphne's determined licking, Harry felt overwhelmed as her smell invaded him. Her golden hair was the bars of his prison, and Harry was the yielding prisoner.

Exploring her sweet mouth, Harry felt defeated against her enthusiastic tongue. Her strawberry taste wasn't helping either, though Harry wasn't sure whether that had come from her lipstick or she had eaten the berries recently.

Harry never liked being defeated, be it at Quidditch or at kissing.

Uncaring on Daphne's side, Harry's hands firmly gripped her and he flipped them a bit ungraciously. Daphne's shriek of surprise was mixed with a pained groan, and she slapped his chest as she usually did when he screwed up.

"Sorry?" Harry provided, but unlike the disappointment and apology evident in his voice, he didn't wait for Daphne to accept his apology.

Instead, upon drawing a low moan from the blond by kissing her senseless, Harry understood that he was forgiven.

Ending the kiss, Harry smiled to Daphne's lips before descending to her jaw and then her neckline while leaving a trail of kisses. His hands weren't slacking off either. While he listened to Daphne's mewls, one hand caressed her side, starting down from her delicate waist up toward the line of her breasts, each motion leaving Daphne excruciatingly needy as no skin ever touched. She panted especially when Harry moved to her breasts and fondled them, squeezing the peaks where they protruded from her dress robes.

Either Daphne had bypassed wearing a bra, or it was of those thin lacy ones that she adored wearing in favour of driving Harry mad.

Dismissing those thoughts that hardened him even more, Harry switched his hand with his mouth. His hot breath above her nipple had hiked it, making it much easier for Harry to latch onto it and suck. Her dress robes were not tasty per se, but the chant of his name on her lips was divine.

Harry's free hand that caressed Daphne's thighs somewhat kept Daphne in check. If he was not touching _anything_ , she'd be sure to lose her mind. His teasing on her nipple would be the cause of it, he was sure.

Daphne tugged at his hair where her fingers were entangled in it; she could never get it messier, so he was not cross at that. What annoyed Harry was that Daphne had thought she could remove him from her breasts so that she could steal a kiss from him.

Harry dug his nails into her thighs and with his other hand he collected her wrists to pin them down above her head. He prayed to Merlin that he was doing justice to 'rough sex' but there was a little voice in his head that said that it wasn't much gentlemanly to take Daphne on the tiles.

That seemed to be the plan though, and Daphne was not complaining.

"You little minx," Harry murmured just above her lips, his hot breath tickling its refined shape.

Kissing her just at the corner of those tantalizing lips, Harry tightened his grip on her wrists before extracting his face from hers.

He had a business half-done.

Licking the other nipple that hadn't gotten any attention, Harry continued his ministrations there. He circled her breast with kisses, slowly making the circles smaller enough to get to the peak. Once there, he licked, blew on it, then grabbed it between his teeth. Pulling it slightly, Harry now listened to his lady cursing. His hand squeezing the other breast in the meantime did little to slow down Daphne.

She could curse like a sailor when she had the motive. Something she picked up from her father, Harry assumed.

Oh, and this time the motive would be the lack of penetration.

Harry sought her core with one hand, the one on her thigh grabbing her bum to position them if need be.

Intending to remove her knickers to the side, Harry was perplexed to find that his fingers grasped nothing. Absolutely and surely nothing.

Daphne had gone commando. With that short skirt of hers. In the front.

Pureblood heiress his arse, behind closed doors Daphne Greengrass was something else.

Losing whatever control he had, Harry let go of Daphne's wrists and slacked her legs where they were hooked to his waist so that he could unzip his jeans. Having freed himself, he positioned his manhood in front of her ready sex, and penetrated with a hard thrust.

"Merlin!" Daphne called out. "Finally, finally!"

Harry waited so that Daphne could adjust to his size. Every time they united, she always gasped to have him inside of her, never ceasing to clench on him.

He bent over and accepted Daphne's embrace as well as kissing her to shut her up. He had fallen in love with her proper upbringing; although her dirty mouth turned him on, he'd rather listen to their entwined tongues than her cursing every god or deity.

It was lame, but the truth was that Daphne made Harry jealous of Merlin in such cases.

Daphne bit on Harry's lower lip and pulled it before letting it go, the slight pain having masterfully woken him up from his musing.

Harry pulled himself out, then thrust again. Picking up the pace, he melted into the feel of Daphne's muscles clenching around him. He went faster, his belt buckle hitting the tiles in the same rhythm.

"Yes, yes, love," Daphne urged him on, her manicured nails clawing his biceps. "There! Like that! Fuck me, harder! Harder! Fuck me like the whore I am!"

Harry dipped his head and silenced her again. He must be flushed to the roots of his hair. One more thing he wasn't entirely comfortable with. He had discussed this with Daphne, but hadn't come to a conclusion. She liked those kinds of nicknames, but Harry wasn't up to saying them out loud. She opted to say herself, but it made him anxious rather than horny.

Daphne shrieked at her climax, and Harry rode it to find his own pleasure. Her clenching walls sucked him for what he was worth, and he was groaning at his own release not long after.

Harry had collapsed on Daphne, having exhausted himself, but rolled away thinking that he might be crushing her.

"That was…" Harry mumbled, a grimace on his face. He corrected his glasses leisurely so that Daphne wouldn't see it.

If not for sex, Daphne was an amazing woman-

"Amazing!" she gasped, nodding enthusiastically. She turned around, and crawled to the crook of his neck, resting her cheek there.

Harry snaked his arm around her but didn't say anything. Maybe, he was just exaggerating this…

Suddenly feeling out of sorts, Harry kissed Daphne's forehead and gently extracted himself from her. He righted his clothes, and made sure that he was presentable- his hair aside.

"I'm still not ready-"

"-Actually, I was going to tell you that something came up. I can't come to Hogsmeade."

"What came up?" Daphne asked with narrowed eyes, apparently having caught his obvious lie.

"Hermione," Harry blurted out all of a sudden, his years of relying on Hermione coming forth as a reflex. "She called. Something about the Ministry and house-elves. She wants a consult."

Daphne nodded, deciding to go with his lie. "Sure, send her my regards."

Harry cleared his throat. Had this room always been so suffocating?

"Teddy's birthday party is tomorrow," Daphne reminded Harry before he could leave. "Everything's ready, I baked the cake myself and don't panic for your present, you've already given it to me for safekeeping."

"Yes, right! Present is done, party is done. I'll somehow trick him to come to your place-"

"Tell him you'll come to look after me because I'm sick. Aunt Daphne could use some company," she smirked. Harry smiled at her quick thinking, she had organized everything. He liked that about her. She was always in control and knew what to do, and unlike Hermione, she never panicked. She could be distressed sometimes but Daphne Greengrass never panicked, the war being the exception. Everything she planned went smoothly and according to plan.

She was composed and held herself like no woman Harry had known. She was exceptional.

To Harry, the only flaw was…

Harry didn't want to think about it, let alone say it out loud. He could live without having sex, right? Because Daphne was perfect if not for that part of their relationship, and it wasn't like the sex was awful.

"Yes, of course. I better go," Harry announced and left one disgruntled Daphne Greengrass behind the doors he closed.

Rushing to the fireplace of his own office, Harry decided to not think about any of this. His and Daphne's relationship had found a safe rail to move on, and their gradually extinguishing passion and love shouldn't ruin their routine-

Wait, love? Had Harry even confessed his love for her? And was it ceasing?

Godric, help him!

Opening the door to his office, Harry came face to face with Tore Rowle. Or rather face to waist.

"Something you want to ask me, champ?" Harry called the boy, only now noticing the cookie stuffed in his mouth.

Not giving any sign to being ashamed at having been caught, Tore pleasantly swallowed the last bite. Probably of the last cookie, too.

"May I use the floo?" the second year asked.

"The loo?" Harry played daft.

"The floo," he repeated, only his brows creased.

"I heard."

Harry first took care of Tore Rowle. Calling his father, Harry shipped him off. He and Tore chatted for an hour waiting for his father to show up, though.

Once Harry saw him out, he gave his room a one-last-look-around. Halting at his window, Harry looked out of it. He saw Daphne leaving the grounds, not one trunk trailing behind her. _Her house-elf must have arrived_ , he thought last and then turned on his heel to leave for the Ministry.

Even if it was a lie, visiting Hermione could help him get his mind together. Sure, his relationship with Daphne was no secret, Ron knew about it, and they occasionally talked about it too. But he was currently out of the country, in Italy for the World Quidditch Cup, actually.

Making his way to the Being Division, Harry passed offices that he knew did not belong to his best friend. At the end of the corridor, the office closest to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, Harry found her pacing the rather spacious room. There were documents and newspapers spread all over the place, not a single empty spot to step on. There was a blackboard that Hermione had written all sorts of things on it, Harry had a hard time reading it, as always. He had always wondered how Ron copied off of Hermione's homework, her handwriting had always been a mess.

 _Not worse than Ron's_ , Harry guessed.

When he stepped in, knocking at the open door simultaneously, he realized he had breached a Silencing charm.

"I can't, Draco!" Hermione was shrieking. Her hair was wilder than usual, probably from having her hands through it endless times. She looked sleep deprived with bags under her eyes and bloodshot hue to them. Her skin had a sickly colour to it too, rivaling to the paleness of Malfoy.

"Fine, Granger. I won't make time for our lunch either then," Malfoy shot back and the next thing Harry knew was that Malfoy had shouldered him out of his way with a sneer on his face.

"Hermione…?" Harry stepped further inside, his voice tentative. "What happened? Why is Malfoy…?"

Hermione let out a loud shriek, looking like she had enough of it, whatever 'it' was.

"He's being spoiled again! I'm so close-so close to figuring this out. I can feel it! And he comes here demanding to have lunch..." Hermione exclaimed, becoming angrier at the mention of Malfoy.

Harry knew that they were seeing each other, however recently, and that Hermione had been searching restlessly for some project of hers aside from Ministry work. This had been the combo to end 'Mione and Ron's relationship, if they had even called it that at one point at all.

Harry wracked his brain to come up with a reply that would ease his best friend, but Hermione beat him to it.

"It's always newspapers. Most of them different dates, years! But they are old, not to mention a lot different than what we have in the Ministry's archives!"

Harry knew all of this as Hermione had informed him about the newspapers that popped into her apartment, work, anywhere she happened to be actually, that had been older than a few decades with striking headings. Harry had first thought about it as some upgraded version of fanmail, one that mocked and confused Hermione, but with each day that passed without answers, the severity of the situation was understood eventually.

Harry hadn't known the details much, he and Hermione had last conversed two weeks ago, but seeing the duress she was under, it was obvious Hermione was no where near having those answers.

"What changed? Last time I saw you, you were confused, not having a heart attack," Harry asked calmly to Hermione. His voice must have switched something in her as she sighed and plopped down into her armchair.

Rubbing her forehead with two fingers, Hermione sighed again before speaking.

"Twelfth newspaper dated October 20th, 1993. It wrote about the new Headmaster, Lord Voldemort, and the public persecution of…" Hermione cleared her throat and avoided his gaze. "...of Harry James Potter. Killed by the Kiss."

Harry wasn't surprised to hear a news about his death, it was a fact that newspaper columns found it occasionally funny to imagine how he'd die. Would it be of old age, or fighting off another dark wizard? Who knows?

He was surprised that this was affecting Hermione enough to make her go mad.

"And the thirteenth, dated January 2nd, 1942, announces one murder in Hogwarts. R.H. -Rubeus Hagrid- is the culprit. The date is the same with the first newspaper I found, so I thought maybe this one is the real news, not the crap from that previous one. So I checked the archives, again, today, to see that, yes, that particular news is the same but not the whole newspaper. There is another story saying that there was a missing student in Hogwarts. The author speculated that she might have been victim to Grindelwald and his supporters -she was a blood-traitor it wrote."

Hermione stopped talking and Harry saw that there was glistening on her face, starting from her eyes to her chin… wait, was she crying?

Harry stepped closer to Hermione, he was just about to embrace her, knowing that she would readily fall for his arms where she could find solace, but there was knock on the door that startled both of them.

Hermione sniffed, and after clearing her throat, added, "Yes?"

A man, older than the late Albus Dumbledore, with harsh features to his face yet a youthful glint in his eyes, proceeded inside the office. "Pardon me for interrupting, they had asked me to deliver these documents, saying it was urgent-"

"Let me," Hermione said and walked around the desk to get the documents. She dismissed the German wizard out of her office and opened the documents, skimming over the papers.

Harry didn't say a word, seeing that what Hermione was reading was rather important. He dropped his eyes to the newspapers haphazardly placed on Hermione's desk. His eyes finding that last newspaper Hermione had mentioned that had screwed everything for her. He took it and read the news, quickly finding the one about the missing person.

"No way," Harry murmured, not believing what he had read. This couldn't be… Was this a joke?!

"Hermione, here it says that the person who went missing was-"

Harry lift his gaze to stare at empty space. He looked around, made a full turn even, to inspect the office thoroughly.

No, no, no….

This couldn't be…! He hadn't heard her high heels; she hadn't walked out of the damned office! Rushing outside, he looked at the corridor, praying to spot a head of wild brown curls.

But deep inside, he knew it was futile. She was gone. Hermione had vanished, just like Ginny had.

It was her name on the old newspaper: Ginevra Weasley.

Harry kicked the door of Hermione's office and cursed, worse than Daphne.

"Not again! Not fucking again! First Gin, now… Argh! Fuck magic! Where are my damn friends!"


End file.
